


Star-Crossed

by ScribbleWillow (Soul_in_the_Starlight)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Other, non-humanoid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:31:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soul_in_the_Starlight/pseuds/ScribbleWillow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's lonely out there in space...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Star-Crossed

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this as a fill in the Eleventh Doctor kink-meme on Livejournal, for the prompt 'Eleven/Non-Humanoid. 
> 
> I regret nothing.

Amy went to bed a good few hours previously, but The Doctor's not tired, and soon exhausts even the unnecessary tinkering with the TARDIS.

He gives up on the idea of writing a manual for the Sonic, in case Amy ever needs to use it to rescue him, but mainly because he's forgotten what some of the settings do.

So he decides to do what any bored Time Lord would do while their beautiful companion lies asleep somewhere in the depths of the TARDIS.

De-materialising near a particulary spectacular nebula, he crosses purposefully to the doors and opens them, admiring the view before sitting down on the floor, dangling his legs out over the edge.

And then he unzips his trousers.

Because if there's one thing guaranteed to relieve the boredom of a Time Lord whilst his beautiful companion lies sleeping, it's relieving himself; into space, and watching his emissions float away, to become one with the universe.

If you're going to self-pleasure, then do it in style.

He shuffles his buttocks around until he's really comfortable, and then dives into his underpants to fetch out his cock. The nebula roils and swirls beneath his feet, and all is right with the universe as he makes his first stroke. He leans back, supporting himself with the other arm as he makes his languorous movements, up and down his length.

**

Ten long, and terminally dull minutes later, he's slumped against the door frame, just making cursory movements with his hand, his cock having given up about 2 minutes in.

He should probably try again with that manual.

But then something catches his eye, at the corner of the the nebula, a faint blue haze, weaving in and out of the stars below him, working it's way up towards him.

He lets go of his cock and leans over the edge of the TARDIS to get a better look.

Five seconds later, he's flat on his back, a cloud of blue star-shine fizzling around his face and crotch.

He sits up, awkwardly, wondering what happened. The sparkling cloud backs off a little, then inches forward, slowly, reaching out and touching his lips, gently, but firmly, an odd sort of pressure opening his mouth and slipping inside, swirling quickly; then it backs away, expectantly.

The Doctor eyes it, licking his lips, searching his memories until it finally dawns.

" _Astrid_?"

  
The cloud surges forward, knocking him over again, and it's swirling over his lips again, probing, not unpleasantly, inside his mouth, diving in between the buttons of his shirt, and sweeping around his peculiarly revitalised manhood.  
  
"Astrid! It's _lovely_ to see you again, but I really must pro...oh...OH!" the Doctor tries to sit up again, but he energy cloud has other ideas, surging over him again and pinning him down, coalescing around his cock, which has really warmed to the notion of submitting.  
  
"Astrid! _Really_! This is just not seemly behaviour for a non-coporeal energy field..."  
  
But Astrid disagrees, her peculiar grip tightening on his now very eager cock, squeezing and pulling and oh! Even slipping inside it!  
  
As pleasant as it is, the Doctor is quite unnerved by this sudden onslaught. Astrid was lovely, and he would have gladly taken her along as a companion, but this is actually starting to be a little be weird.  
  
"Astrid! _Please_!"  
  
But she takes his plea as a green light to continue, and he's pinned to the floor, the cloud of energy determined to have it's way with him.  
  
It's like a great tentacled thing, reaching out ribbons of energy that do everything at once; some pin his arms and legs to the floor, another is sliding through his hair, yet more are caressing his neck, snaking inside his shirt to tease his nipples, the static making the hairs on his chest and stomach stand on end.  
  
All his senses are overcome, the sight of the brilliant blue cloud hovering over his prone body, seeming to grow brighter, the more aroused he becomes. And he is aroused; he can taste the starlight as the energy probes his mouth, caressing his lips and tongue. He can smell the starch from the apron she died in, the scent of her hair and the fragrance that enveloped her skin; even the cigarette smoke that had seeped in to her dress as she'd made her rounds with the tray. And finally, the smell of his old self, tasting his former tongue upon his new one.  
  
And in his ears, which are also being attended to, he swears he can hear a whispered longing in the gentle electrifying crackle, fuelling his desire as she surrounds him with her self.  
  
He decides that the pragmatic approach is to surrender, after all, why sit there hunched up over the doorway when he can lie back and be ravished?  
  
He relaxes into the ethereal embrace, every inch of his skin now bristling with the charge of her energy. His cock is being enveloped more tightly, almost like he's inside her...  
  
He opens his eyes, the feeling just a little bit to real, but he's met with the churning, heaving spirals of energy that are gathered about him, setting him ablaze with feeling in every follicle, every pore.

He moans and writhes as the energy grows brighter and more intense. There's no inch of him that isn't on fire with sensitivity and pleasure as he feels himself start to unravel in this extraordinary maelstrom.  
  
And then suddenly, he's being lifted from the floor, brought to his feet, carried towards the open door. He panics briefly, thinking he'll be pulled out into space, and reaches out to grab the door frame, eyes squeezing shut and knees buckling as his climax is wrung from him with an incoherent shout.  
  
And then he's free, the sensations gone, and he opens his eyes to see the cloud has taken shape in the merest ghost of Astrid.  
  
She floats there, like a constellation, in need of lines to join the dots, and yet he knows it's her.  
  
In the belly of her form he sees his seed, floating, a small white bubble of possibility nestled deep inside. He watches, fascinated as it dissolves before his eyes, reduced to the energy in it's potential; and then the phantom of Astrid closes down around it, shrinking into a ball of light so bright he must shield his eyes.  
  
And then it bursts, into a miniature galaxy of tiny stars that gather into to two separate clouds, one blue, and one white. They dance together, spiraling around each other in way he can only think of as _affectionate_ , before they're gone at the speed of light.  
  
As sexual encounters go, the Doctor has to admit this is bizarre, even for him. He thinks he just fathered himself in some way, but he's too spent to consider it properly. Taking a step back, he closes the doors, suddenly aware, before even he turns, that Amy has been stood there watching the whole time.


End file.
